Charred earth and water lilies

I have travelled to Germany to be with my daughter and her family, a trip I make relatively often, but his time I am staying in a tiny house in a neighbouring village. Before I arrived I could only imagine it. How tiny would 'tiny' be? (Not very, as it turns out.) In fact nothing is as I imagined it: not the path behind the house across the river, leading through beaver country, nor the lake where I swim in cool, clear water, amongst yellow water lilies, watching iridescent dragon flies. And not the peace – which isn’t in the landscape (mosquitoes put paid to that) but in me; the sense that I am being breathed and that what underpins the movement of breathing, is peace. Ordinary and obvious. Before I left the UK, busy, time constrained, goal orientated, I forgot to breathe. It happened but unconsciously, unappreciated, unmiraculously. In that frame of mind, I found it difficult to imagine another. This one, right now.

Lake of Love

Before I had been deeply loved, I could only imagine how that might feel. Maybe I imagined the adrenaline rush or the romance or maybe, probably, I imagined it was all too late for me. The reality, arriving as it did when I was 54, was far more solid than imagination had painted it: I could trust my weight to it and it didn't give way; I could reveal myself in it and it didn't disappear; I could , rather like swimming in the lake, bathe in clear, buoyant water which held my beloved and me and spread out far beyond us. And, mixing my metaphors, the result has been metamorphic – I am forever changed by being bathed in love.

Bringer of Joy

I watch my daughter being a mother to a bright, wilful 2 year old. She could not have imagined what joy motherhood in general and being a mother to this little human in particular, would bring her. After 7 years of hoping and being told there was no hope, this child arrived, unique, a bringer of life, of love and of unimaginable joy.

Charred Earth

In the depths of grief, and still when a wave of it sweeps me away, I could not imagine that joy was anything more than a memory or a fantasy. A friend sent me a poem recently about how, after a forest fire, there can be a 'superbloom', as vegetation springs anew, flowers turning their faces to the light, trees shooting fresh through the charred earth, a metaphor in the poem, that love is stronger than the enemy death. Whilst I cannot imagine 'super blooming', I also cannot see death as an enemy. Death for me is not the whole problem. My response to the loss of those I love, to their physical disappearance, is what hurts. I could not imagine life being happy without them. But there is peace. I could not imagine laughing again. But there is a bonny boy who crows with joy and I can feel my eyes alight. I could not imagine ever belonging anywhere with anyone. Yet the lake accepted me and bathed me in her soft waters. Green shoots perhaps through the charred earth.

Box of Love

It will never be as it was. I cannot imagine being deeply loved again. And yet, I arrived in my tiny house to find my daughter had packed a box full of the stuff: chocolate and fairy lights, incense and furry blanket, berry juice and an oracle card for the week which read:

“Everything lost is found. Everything hurt is healed again. The truth has the power to retrieve a part of your spirit from the past”.

Pain will come and love, joy and tears, and underpinning it all, whether I remember it or not, whether I try to imagine it or not, will be the peace which powers my breath. I hope that when death comes for me, it will be neither violent nor traumatic; but however it arrives, I choose to believe that, as I cross the threshold where I am untethered from the suffering of body and mind, it will be peace which holds my hand and accompanies me to wherever it is I am going.

With my love

Nickie

NEWS

• A Day to Tend to Grief: Saturday 15^th June in South Brent.

One week until we spend a gentle and creative day, exploring how best to take care of our grief. 3 places remaining. Do please join me and if you live outside of the area, consider spending a weekend in restorative Devon and perhaps having a one on one session with me the following day. Details and to book here

• Creatively Writing Through Grief: beginning Tuesday 11^th June, online

This course is now FULLY BOOKED. If you had thought you might like to join me and didn’t quite make it, do please let me know as I hope to offer another one in the not too distant future.

• Song and Silence for Peace: Saturday 13th July in south Brent.

A beautiful day to come together, sing, reflect, send our blessings for peace out into the world on the wings of our voices. For information and to book, please go to the events page.

• Walking with Loss, Together: beginning 11^th September in Ivybridge with Emma Capper and myself.

Using nature and creative activities to guide us and with resourcing input about the process of grief, this will be a connecting and nourishing course.

“ being in the company of others experiencing loss of different kinds, somehow helped one accept loss as being a natural part of life”. 2023 participant

We have decided to extend this to make a 6 week course rather than 4 weeks, starting on Wednesday 11^th September and finishing on 16^th October. More information to follow but to register your interest please contact me here.

• Podcasts

Two more podcasts on their way, recorded with the brilliant Liz Scott of Inner Compass. These ones are about being with someone who is dying and someone dealing with complex grief. If you haven’t listened to the ones already on the website, you can access them here.